


Drinking Red Wine From The Bottle

by MintSauce



Series: My Gallavich Week Stuff [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is my contribution to Gallavich Week Day 1: I like 'em sweet.</p><p>Really though, if Gallagher ever told anyone, his excuse was totally going to be to blame Mandy. It was her fault the idea was even in her head what with making Gallagher watch that stupid goddamn movie!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Red Wine From The Bottle

“What the actual fuck are you watching?” Mickey asked when he walked into the living room to find Ian and Mandy pressed together on the couch watching some sappy movie or something. Mickey’s first real thought was, _is he trying to look like a fucking fag or what?_

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Something you wouldn’t understand fuckhead,” she sneered at him , sliding a hand down Ian’s thigh in a way that made Mickey’s eyes want to narrow in possessiveness. “Ian and I unlike some uncultured sexist pigs are _romantics_ ,” she told him, her lip curling, “You know we have _hearts_!”

And Jesus, he’d never heard his sister sound so lofty before.

Ian smiled at him sheepishly, but didn’t deny it and even since then the idea of it was just stuck in Mickey’s head.

So Gallagher was a romantic _… huh._

He’d already sort of known that, because it was obvious in the way Ian would look at him sometimes, the stuff he’d do and say; but it had never really registered. And Mickey didn’t know much about romance, knew it meant dates and kisses and flowers and shit like that. And Ian was a guy so at least he didn’t really have to worry about the last one, but the other two he could maybe do.

Wasn’t like Ian and he hadn’t kissed and they hung out all the time, so making it a date shouldn’t have been too fucking difficult. And he didn’t know why he wanted to really, maybe it was just to see what Gallagher would do, what the look on his face would be like if Mickey took him on a date.

Because Mickey hadn’t been Ian’s first kiss, not by a long shot and he hadn’t been the first one to treat him to nice things or to compliment him – hell he hadn’t even really done those things himself – but he quite liked the idea of being the only one to get Ian to smile so wide it looked like it was splitting his face in two. And he thought maybe, taking Ian on a date was a sure fire way of coaxing that smile out of him.

As fucking gay as that seemed.

It was about three weeks after he’d first walked into his house to find Ian and Mandy watching that stupid movie when he finally sent Ian a text telling him to get his ass to the roof. And maybe whenever he thought about it, he actually heard the words _our roof_ in his head, but that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t sappy or gay or anything like that, it was just a simple fact. They’d set up so much shit on that rooftop that it really was more theirs than anyone else’s.

“Mick?” Ian called when he emerged onto the roof and Mickey could see him from his vantage point on the raised section of the roof that he’d lounged on to shoot at Gallagher during their training sessions. Ian was dressed in that blue shirt that stretched tight across his chest and had Mickey’s fingers itching to touch him in all the best and worst ways.

It probably didn’t help that he was at least eighty per cent sure that Gallagher knew exactly what that colour and that shirt specifically did to Mickey when he saw it.

“Up here, fuckhead,” he called down, smirking in the face of Ian’s bright smile when he looked up and met Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey sucked on the cigarette in his hand, blowing smoke out his nostrils like a bull and he told himself he wasn’t nervous. This wasn’t what nerves felt like. This was just hesitation, or something as equally stupid like that; because he didn’t want this to blow up in his face and he didn’t want to come off like a complete and utter tool when Gallagher saw what he’d set up behind him. It wasn’t nerves, it was just that Mickey didn’t like looking like an idiot.

It really was as simple as that.

“You comin’ down or you gonna stay up there all night?” Ian asked, pushing his hands into his pockets and tipping his head back to look right up at Mickey and Mickey wondered if this was how Ian always felt being the taller one. Not that that was really a valid point, because Mickey didn’t even know what the fuck he thought it felt like.

He rolled his eyes, “Or you could get your ass up here with me.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Thought we could sneak into a late movie or something,” he suggested, “Pretty sure there’s that new zombie one with Brad Pitt in out.”

Mickey scowled, scrubbing a hand through his hair and squinting a little as he sucked one last time on his smoke before flicking it off to the side. “ _Or_ ,” he said, chewing on the corner of his mouth, “You could do what I said before and get the fuck up here.”

Ian was frowning by now, looking at Mickey like he’d lost his mind and he knew how it must be coming across. Mickey was never quite so persistent about stupid shit and he was trying really fucking hard not to snap or sound too harsh with his words right then. It was a quickly dissipating effort, but still, he prided himself on the fact that he was at least _trying_.

It was just Gallagher being an awkward little bitch.

“Mick–”

“Gallagher will you just shut the fuck up and climb up here,” Mickey interrupted him, stepping away from the edge slightly and resisting the urge to glance behind him at what he’d set up, because what the fuck ever. Maybe it was nerves; but Mickey didn’t want to fuck this up.

He wasn’t a pussy, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to see something good when it was right in front of him. He may not be all that willing to admit it out loud, but he knew Gallagher was one of the only good things in his life and if it was stupid, gay shit like this that would keep him happy, well then Mickey could suck it the fuck up and get it over with. Which was of course, easier said than done when it came to Gallagher, because he always had to be the awkward one.

He’d deny it, but he really did.

Ian rolled his eyes at him again, but caved – probably more than a little curious by this point – and braced his hands flat near Mickey’s feet and hauled himself up.

Mickey didn’t look at him though, didn’t want to see his reaction. Instead he finally looked back at what he’d set up. It wasn’t really anything special. There weren’t candles or any stupid shit like that, because Mickey seriously drew the line at candles; but Mickey had arranged a load of blankets and pillows into a weird ass sort of nest.

And so what if he’d set it up in the best place on the roof to see the fucking stars? He told himself it was only because he wasn’t going to be outdone by that fucking geriatric viagroid and just on the off chance he’d offered Gallagher the stars or some gay shit like that, Mickey was covering all his bases. Besides, he’d made a jibe at Ian once about them spreading out a blanket and looking for shooting stars and it felt like the best sort of irony almost to do it, so Mickey had swallowed down his pride and spread out the blanket.

After all, he wasn’t a fucking pussy. If Gallagher wanted to squint up at the sky, Mickey could handle that.

“Mick–”

Gallagher’s voice sounded completely wrecked as he stood there next to Mickey and Mickey couldn’t help but let his eyes snap to Ian, almost with worry, because he didn’t know what the hell that tone meant. Ian’s mouth was open slightly, revealing a pink flash of tongue as he stared at what was laid out before him and he looked shell-shocked.

If Mickey had to pick a comparison, he’d say it was pretty damn close to the expression Ian had on his face right after he’d come for the second time in a few hours, that dopey, fucked out, stupidly happy expression that at the same time said he didn’t quite know how to pull himself together to reveal actual emotion.

His mouth open and closed a few times and his eyes flickered over to Mickey, long lashes fanning out against his cheeks when he blinked. “ _Mick_ ,” he said again, fingers reached for Mickey in an aborted sort of movement like he didn’t believe this was actually real, like he thought this was some sort of dream.

And maybe it showed that this was long overdue or maybe it just showed that Mickey had obviously done something right if this was along the lines of something that Gallagher might dream about.

“There’s not even an occasion,” he said, his voice stupid sounding like seeing what Mickey had done had scattered all of his wits to the wind and he was only now managing to drag them all back together. “Is there?”

He looked worried for a moment, like he’d forgotten something.

Mickey shook his head, his tongue feeling too large in his mouth and his words getting caught up on the way out so that all that emerged from his throat was a harsh breath. He curled his fingers around Ian’s forearm and tugged him down onto the mess of blankets, still chewing his bottom lip into a ragged mess as Ian sprawled out beside him.

And it only served to remind him that Gallagher really was just all long limbs and freckled skin.

He batted Ian’s searching hands away though when they started to sneak up under his shirt, grabbing a flesh because of course everything came down to sex with them and he didn’t know what to think that Ian apparently thought that so long as Mickey made an effort with the setting, that was enough.

He looked confused, if a little offended when Mickey smacked his hands away though, but there was a smile peaking around the edges of his frown as Mickey reached over to knock the lid off the cooler box he’d found in the back of a cupboard at his house.

He could vaguely remember his mum packing it full of sandwiches made of semi-stale bread and something about the beach, but that memory slipped away quite gratefully when Ian leant forwards, pressing up against his side in a long line of heat to try and see what was in the cooler. He was like a little kid trying to peak at Christmas presents and it made Mickey smirk and some of the tension in his shoulders that remained fade away.

He shoved a box of Gallagher’s favourite lemon chicken Chinese takeout at him before he could get too close to the cooler and he’d actually paid for the stuff, which was a miracle if he did say so himself. Of course, he overlooked the fact that he’d stolen the money for it in the first place, because that wasn’t the point. It was all Gallagher’s fault anyway, like the expensive shit.

Champagne taste, lemonade income rang through his head when he thought of Gallagher, but he didn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing. It was sort of foretelling that Ian was destined for greater shit that this city. If Mickey knew only one thing, that would be it.

“You got something to eat this with?” Ian asked when Mickey handed some egg fried rice over to him, unsurprised when Gallagher just dumped the second container into the first. He was nothing if not classy, _obviously_.

“No I thought you could fuckin’ pick at it with your fingers like a goddamn bird,” Mickey replied, snorting loudly as he dug around in the cooler for where he’d tossed in some forks. None of that chopstick crap, Mickey had never learnt how to hold them right anyway.

Ian smirked, “Mick, that doesn’t make any sense, birds don’t even have fingers.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He threw a fork at him, scowling when Ian caught it like it was nothing. Like Mickey hadn’t intentionally been aiming for his head.

After Mickey reached over to flick on the shitty stereo he’d stolen from one of his brothers so many years ago now that he’d lost count and Black Stone Cherry started to filter out of the speakers, silence fell more or less between him and Ian.

It was easy though, a comfortable sort of silence. It was all just the click of forks against the sides of containers and Ian tossing smirks his way, uncaring whether or not Mickey was actually looking. And so what if he smirked back, nobody but Ian had to know.

“What, no glasses?” Ian asked when he twisted the top off of a bottle of red wine, his tone light and teasing and so goddamn fucking happy that Mickey’s heart stuttered in his chest and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. He just blinked at Ian and tipped back his head, swallowing down a mouthful of wine like that would clear his senses.

“The fuck you think this is, Gallagher?” he asked, snorting loudly as he handed over the bottle, “No I ain’t got fuckin’ glasses, what you gonna want next, a straw?”

Ian rolled his eyes at him, smiling around the rim of the bottle. “Maybe,” he said.

Mickey watched Gallagher’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, the long pale line of his throat that Mickey just wanted to sink his teeth into and feel the vibrations of Ian’s moan underneath his tongue. He wanted to mark up that pretty throat like he had something to prove, like if Mickey left his mark deep enough Ian would never forget him no matter how many other people touched his skin.

Mandy, fuckin’ grandpa, other guys, strangers, _anybody_.

When he lowered the bottle again, Ian’s lips were stained a reddish purple and Mickey couldn’t stop himself. It was like they were magnets, completely opposite and yet always destined to jerk towards each other whenever nothing was there to keep them apart.

Gallagher made a noise low in his throat when Mickey’s mouth crashed against his, but he recovered quickly, setting the bottle down next to them and pushing aside the take out containers – because something would always be ingrained into Ian to stop them making unnecessary mess, he was a freak like that – before his fingers came up and twined in the bottom of Mickey’s hair. Nails dug into the back of his neck and he could feel grease from Ian’s fingers swiping across his skin, but he didn’t care.

He just pressed in closer, chasing the taste of wine and lemon from Ian’s tongue, replacing it with nothing but _Mickey Mickey Mickey._ The way it should be in the most messed up, twistedly possessive way.

Ian’s body bucked against his, a moan building in his throat as he dragged Mickey on top of him, fitting a hand at the small of Mickey’s back to grind up against him. He still had a hand in Mickey’s hair, like he thought that if he let go, Mickey was going to go running. And maybe he would have done any other night, any other time, but Mickey was fucking _trying_ so hard for just the one night.

Like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Maybe he had everything to prove.

But it felt so easy as he slipped a knee in between Ian’s legs and tore their mouths apart to latch his teeth into the flesh of Gallagher’s neck. He sucked hard, biting in a way that had to border on painful, but Ian thrashed against him again, moaning loudly and Mickey couldn’t say he was sorry even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

“ _Mick_ ,” Gallagher breathed out again, like that said it all, like that was all that needed to be said here; and maybe it was. He grabbed Mickey either side of his face and kissed him again, pushing upwards with his hips so that Mickey could feel the hard line of his cock underneath his zipper.

And then everything was just a roar in Mickey’s ears as they jerked free of their clothes. Ian’s shirt and Mickey’s boxers went flying straight off the raised bit they were on onto the roof below them, but Mickey was too far gone to care when Ian was pulling his lubed up fingers from Mickey’s ass and sinking his cock in slow enough that all Mickey could focus on was the sheer heat of him as he filled Mickey up.

It was like a brand, burning Mickey right the way through. Or maybe that was Ian’s hands on his flesh, on his thigh and on the back of his neck as he thrust his hips against Mickey’s ass, making Mickey buck and come undone underneath him. Maybe it was Gallagher’s mouth on his neck, skimming over his lips and parting occasionally in a low moan that sounded as though it was being forcibly dragged straight up and out of Ian’s soul.

Or maybe it was a lot simpler than that. Maybe it was the look Ian gave him through his lashes that burned hotter than anything else, that had Mickey coming with his nails biting deep into Ian’s shoulder blades and his heart feeling like it was about to beat straight out of his chest.

Ian shuddering almost instantly against him though, biting down hard onto Mickey’s shoulder as his hips ground harder into Mickey, like he could even _get_ any deeper inside him, it almost felt like a reward. Which was stupid, because shouldn’t Mickey coming have been the thank you for this faggy, retarded little attempt at a date?

Maybe that just proved how far gone Mickey really was, whether he was going to admit it or not.

They didn’t bother putting back on their clothes, lounging naked side by side with Ian tapping out the beat of the song rattling out of the speakers, humming the words underneath his breath. Mickey’s fingers were curled loosely around the bottle of wine and Ian’s lips were stained that reddish-purple again, but he supposed his were too.

“What, you not bring one for me too?” Ian asked him when Mickey flopped back down onto his forearms with a Snickers bar clasped between his teeth. Because Mickey was really playing on that fucked up twist of irony tonight and he was too fucking relaxed to give a single shit.

He rolled his eyes and tipped his head back to look up at the stars spread out above them, palely visible against the light the city gave off. He didn’t really see what the big deal about some dots in the sky were, but whatever, he supposed Ian must not have either, because all he was looking at was Mickey.

“No,” he replied bluntly, chewing loudly and messily through his next mouthful until Ian shoved at him with a disgusted expression. Mickey just opened his mouth wide to show Gallagher the contents.

And Ian had to know he was lying, had to know that if he were to look there would be another bar in the cooler by their feet; but as usual he was far too content with snatching Mickey’s out of his fingers, cramming the rest of it into his mouth. And Mickey couldn’t even be bothered to complain, lighting up a cigarette instead and blowing smoke up to obscure the stars.

“You’re such a closet fuckin’ romantic, Mick,” Ian said to him lowly as Mickey finished off the bottle of wine and threw it across the roof. It shattered a distance away, against one of Ian’s obstacles, but the noise of it was muffled by the sound of Ian’s breathing next to him and the thud of Mickey’s own heartbeat in his ears.

Ian reached over to tweak one of Mickey’s nipples, twisting onto his side and Mickey batted his hand away quickly, but somehow found himself handing over the smoke in the same movement.

“Fuck off,” he said, his response a little delayed even to his ears, but he’d be damned if he gave a shit.

Especially when Gallagher was smiling at him like he did no one else, his wine-stained lips wrapping around the filter of yet another one of Mickey’s goddamn cigarettes. 


End file.
